Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J. and I make no profit from this.

Warnings: Not really sure yet tbh. SLASH, clichés, probably a bit of blood and gore as things get into it. I'll rate it M since I'm sure putting something in here that requires it.

Well, it's been a long time since I've written anything. I can't decide if my writing has gotten better or worse. Hopefully better. For those waiting on updates on other stories, it may happen someday but as it stands it's unlikely. For those who want to know the pairing of this, I honestly have no idea myself! I have no idea how this will end up, how often I'll update, or when it'll be finished. But after my exams are finished I'll have three months before I start Uni, so hopefully I'll have a lot of time. I just felt the need to write so I did. I hope it's vaguely enjoyable.

Prologue

He huddled in the gap between the wall and the doorsteps, grasping the fraying ends of his oversized sleeves in his tiny, calloused hands and wrapping his arms around his emaciated body. He was protected from the wind here, just, and most of the rain angled over his head, though it dripped from the gutter, sliding through his fringe to mix with the tears tracks. He'd given up banging on the door. No amount of screaming and begging would ever convince his uncle to let him in. He didn't mind so much in the summer, when the nights were warmer and next doors cat (banned from the house as it got older and lost control of its functions) curled up next to him while he chatted inanely. But Whiskers had her own hidey holes away from the elements, and Harry was too big to fit now.

He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve this punishment, never was. He supposed that he'd been freakish again, somehow, but how could he stop if he didn't know what it was? Oh he knew what the word meant, had looked it up in a dictionary in English once whilst Dudley threw chewing gum in his already matted hair. Freak: a person or animal that is markedly unusual or deformed. But he wasn't that unusual, not through any fault of his own anyway. And deformed (so badly formed or out of shape as to be ugly), well, he'd spent days looking in passing windows. Perhaps he was a little short, far too skinny, strangely pale. And the scar on his forehead was unusual. Maybe that was it, maybe that was what made him deformed.

"Typical English weather..."

He started violently, pressing into the wall at his back, peering through the rain. He could just make out a dark shape, his glasses having been pulled from his face and thrown in the cupboard. Then the shape moved forward through the rain until it stood in front of him, and he could make out a feminine figure, a curl of red hair, and eyes, eyes like his.

"Hello Harry."

Harry. No one but the teachers called him Harry. Before school he'd had no idea that that was his name. That he had a name.

"A bit cold to be outside isn't it?"

He could make out a smile on her face, though it was strange, stretched, as if it wasn't an expression her face was used to making. He smiled timidly back, not really sure what to say to this stranger that knew his name. Yet there was a familiarity about her, something that made his chest hurt even if his mind could find no reason.

He watched confused as she took her leather jacket off, because he knew that adults felt the cold too. But she just gestured for him to lean forward and draped it round his body, drowning him in the warmth and dryness. He clutched it to himself in awe at the unexpected act of kindness and she lightly brushed a hand over his hair in a sudden act of affection.

"I can't linger here. It's not safe for you or for me. But I had to come, to see you."

"Why? Who are you?" Harry asked, confused by this women who came out of nowhere and more than a little scared. Vernon always told him that one day he'd be thrown outside for the night and never return, eaten by wolves or stolen by scary men who like children.

"I...family. That is all I can say. But I promise you Harry, this life is not what your parents wanted for you and they loved you so so much."

The kind words lit a spark of anger within him, for he knew better, knew they were lies. "My parents were useless drunks! They didn't care about me..."

She looked taken aback, glared angrily at the house, then crouched down to his level, tentatively stretched a hand to stroke his check. "Oh Harry, that's not true. Whatever that so called family of yours tells you. It's lies, all lies. Your parents loved you more than anything in this world. Never believe otherwise. You are the son of James and Lily Potter, and that is something to be proud of. One day your life will change, and you will realise that everything you've been told is wrong. Trust In yourself, in your instincts, in your heart, and you will not be lead astray."

A tinny ring pierced the night, and she pulled out a phone, trying to read the screen through the rain. Sighing, standing abruptly, she put it away and stretched.

"We're out of time I'm afraid. Thing are changing and time is of the essence for me."

"Will I see you again?" Harry frowned, not happy to relinquish someone who spoke nice things of his parents and wasted her time on him. It was lonely in his cupboard and in the garden and at school, where he walked close to the walls and passed like a ghost through the lives of uncaring children.

"Not for a long time, I don't suppose. But that doesn't mean I'm far away. And you can keep the jacket to remember me by. The Dursleys won't see it." She leaned down and grasped his chin, matching eyes locked together. "Destiny has laid a heavy burden on you child. At least attempt to enjoy the childhood you have left."

And he could only watch, huddled beneath his first ever gift, as she merged with the darkness, and left him once again alone in the night.

As he grew older he liked to think she was looking out for him, whoever she was. He'd walk to school and notice a precariously placed ten pound note in a bush, find a bag of sweets in his school bag, wake up after a violent altercation with Vernon without a single ache, though the marks remained. Once, when Harry got angry and somehow shattered one of Aunt Petunia's many distasteful vases, his Uncle lost his temper and Harry lost consciousness. When he opened his eyes in his cupboard, it was to notice he was bandaged and plastered, on a bed with clean sheets and a warm bowl of soup on a tiny table. For the next month his family walked on eggshells around him, and even when that trepidation ended the beatings never again escalated to that level.

On his eighth birthday he woke to a mysterious package next to his head. He opened the wrapping with great care and relish, cautiously peeling up the sellotape and folding back the coloured paper. A book. He'd never owned a book before. It was leather-bound with gold letters, and the title of Beedle the Bard. Harry had no idea who Beedle was or, actually, what a bard was. But he didn't care. He had something of his, something his own, and for nights he read by a torch he stole from Dudley, stories of Babbity Rabbit, of Three Brothers, of magic. He took special care to hide it under his mattress before he went to sleep. If there was anything his family hated more than him, it was the m word.

On his ninth birthday he received something that looked like a rubber, but it never once managed to rub out pencil. Harry deemed it impractical yet sentimental value meant it resided with the book under the mattress. For his tenth, a strange necklace, a thin black chain with a tiny pendant. On his eleventh birthday an owl came bearing a letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that was that.

12th August, 1995
Coutroom, Department of Mysteries
Ministry of Magic
London

Harry didn't bother to argue much. He had no witnesses, no legal counsel, no knowledge of legal processes. None the less, he thought this whole scenario was a bit much.

"Look, okay, I admit I used magic in front of a muggle-"

"Ha! There, you see? Guilty as charged!" There was a light in Fudge's eyes that worried Harry. He wished he was more perceptive, but to him it seemed as if the Minister was desperate. Desperate to silence him, desperate to get rid of him, desperate to cling on to his position.

"Yeah but to be fair, he was my cousin! He already knew about magic! So really, I wasn't breaking the Statute of Secrecy at all was I?"

"Now you're just grasping at straws boy!"

"Actually," another voice interjected, "I believe that's a perfectly valid legal point Minister. Whilst he did violate the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, under paragraph C, there are later amendments which allow for magic in front of muggle family who are already aware of its existence. If you wish to verify it, I recall it to be covered in chapter 19, paragraph seven of the Book of Law. As such he technically did not violate the Statute of Secrecy, just the Restriction of Underage Magic"

Harry felt his heart thudding in his chest. Maybe there was some hope. As soon as he'd realised that Dumbledore was not appearing as his knight in shining armour he'd started to lose hope. God knows, Hermione would attest that speeches weren't his thing! But he didn't think he'd done too bad really, and with what looked like Madame Bones on his side, the head of Magical Law Enforcement, perhaps others would vote in his favour. Of course, Fudge was so red in the face as to rival Uncle Vernon, but that was to be expected. He'd obviously hoped that Harry would just accept his fate and fade back into the muggle world from whence he came.

No chance.

"And I already told you there were Dementors," Harry reminded, ignoring Fudge's spluttering and instead focusing on Madame Bones, "I'm willing to take Veritaserum to prove it if that's necessary."

The room stirred at that, the Wizengamot peering at him intently. Taking the truth serum was not something he ever really wanted to do in life, but he assumed there was some code of acceptable practice where they were prohibited from asking personal questions. And whilst he was there he might as well testify about Voldemort's return as well.

"It is illegal to use Veritaserum on a minor, as well you know Potter!"

Or maybe not.

"How could I possib-"

"And I feel we should make an example of you!"

Silence, then people shifted looking uneasy. There was too much emotion in the Ministers tone, too much resentment, and that meant this case was personal. It did not sit well with many of the members.

Madame Bones sighed and adjusted her monocle. "Let's just conclude this shall we? Harry James Potter has violated the Decree for Underage magic: aye or nay?"

Harry didn't need the lights that appeared above their heads to know he'd lost that one.

"And on the violation of the Statute of Secrecy, without due reason?"

That one was difficult to tell. He tried to count the coloured orbs but there were too many and he'd only get so far before he messed up and had to start over. Please let this be another day when luck is on my side...

Fudge stood up quickly, forcing his chair to scrape along the stone floor, and projected in a rather irate voice, "We the Wizengamot find Harry James Potter innocent of violating the Statute of Secrecy, but guilty of using underage magic. As such, the defendant will be given the maximum sentence of one month suspension from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to security concerns, however, he will be allowed to retain his wand. Court dismissed!"

The Minister swept out of the courtroom without further ado but Harry was taking it all in. A month. Another month at the Dursleys...but wait, Sirius had said he could return to Grimmauld Place and live with him. A month with Sirius was alright, better than alright actually. Maybe even preferable to Hogwarts. He felt a small smile flit unwillingly across his face, and he left the chained chair that had dwarfed him, looking around at the members of the Wizengamot. Men and women, old and middle aged, some even younger. There were even people he recognised. He could make out Professor McGonagall talking to an old woman with a stuffed vulture on her hat. Neville's grandma he realised. Lucius Malfoy was no surprise to see and neither was the condescending sneer on his face. Nice to know that some things in the world could be relied on.

"Mr Potter?" He turned to see Madame Bones looking surprisingly awkward for such a powerful woman, back ramrod straight and voice low. "May I have a word in private?"

Startled, Harry stared before replying as politely as possible. "Of course Madame. Would now be convenient for you?"

"Yes, that's fine. If you'll just follow me..." Picking up her briefcase she swept out of the courtroom, Harry trailing rather uncomfortably behind, well aware of the stares he was receiving. He spotted Mr Weasley waiting for him and swapping casual greetings with various people. Bones, obviously a perceptive woman, told Arthur "not to worry, I'll be sure that Mr Potter gets back safely."

Harry ignored the looks he got walking to her office, most snide or accusatory, though some piercing, as if he was a puzzle they would give anything to figure out. He was gestured inside a rather messy room with a wall covered in certificates, a desk covered in paper, and several open filing cabinets. He resisted the urge to look around more closely and instead watched with interest as Madame Bones murmured under her breath and performed a serious of complicated swishes, flicks and slashes with her wand. He opened his mouth to ask what spell she was casting, a little apprehensive about the unknown magic, but she spoke without him needing to.

"A silencing charm Mr Potter, a rather complex one if I do say so myself. It would not do for...curious ears to hear us would it? Especially with Lucius Malfoy skulking around the Ministry as often as he has taken to doing."

That certainly caught Harry's interest. "So you...?"

She sat down behind the desk and gave him a pointed look which he equated to mean stop loitering and sit down. He was used to them from teachers. She started to flick through paper on her desk, putting it into piles and moving it aside. Stalling for time.

"Believe you and Dumbledore? Yes Mr Potter I do. I have never been given any reason to doubt the integrity of either of you. My niece Susan is in your year at Hogwarts, a Hufflepuff," she spoke proudly, "She, like many in that house, is a very good judge of character. When asked, she told me that you have never shown signs of being anything other than kind and honest."

Harry smiled a little, ducking his head with a blush. He'd never been one to take compliments well, but it was nice to know that there were people who believed in him, even if it was just one girl that he shared Herbology with. It gave him hope that there were others at Hogwarts who didn't believe every lie the Prophet spewed. When he looked up again the shrewd witch caught his eye, seemingly searching for something before nodding to herself.

" My brother, well, he worked with Dumbledore during the first war. Edgar thought very well of the Headmaster. A little too well, I sometimes thought, but enough that I in turn trust his word on such important matters. You cannot count on the Ministry however, as I'm sure today has shown you. It is not to say that the people here are not good people, but they are scared. Many were alive for the first war, or lost family, or just grew up hearing the horrors. They would give anything for a few months more of peace. Can you understand that?"

Harry wanted to be indignant, wanted to shout that he had lost people, lost everyone, that from the age of eleven the threat of Voldemort had cast a shadow over his life. Where was his peace? But he didn't. Because as much as a tiny, bitter part of him wanted to, he could not begrudge others their happiness, their ignorance, when he himself would give anything to erase the events of the Graveyard from his mind and carry on as if everything was still the same.

"Yes Madame," he answered quietly, "I can understand that."

"Amelia, please, Madame Bones is far too formal, and I would not be surprised if we crossed paths quite regularly in the future. Drink Potter?"

It was an unsubtle change of subject, but he accepted for politeness' sake and with a "call me Harry". It was strange to have gone from being treated as a naughty child in court to this conversation of equals. He wasn't sure he'd ever been spoken to in such a way. McGonagall perhaps came close, but certainly not Dumbledore with his cryptic words and twinkly eyes. Sipping from a glass of pumpkin juice he watched as Madame Bones, Amelia, paced and stared out of the fake window at London. Or was it a fake representation of London? There was so much about magic he had yet to learn, so many common place things that to him were mysteries. He was meant to fit in this world, his parent's world, but even after four years he still straddled the line between magic and muggle, never quite knowing enough of either to feel at home.

She finally sat down again, face unreadable. "Mr Potter...Harry...I cannot be seen to be taking too much of an interest in you. Politics is getting more dangerous than usual now, and as things stand speaking to you is not a good way to stay in the Minister's good graces. But my family have always been friends to the Potters, and Edgar was close to your parents, so for both those reasons I will risk it.

You are the last Potter now Harry and that is a big thing. The Potter family have always been important and well regarded both inside the political arena and out of it. Why Gringotts have not informed you of your inheritance I don't know, but I advise you to speak to them as soon as possible."

His head was spinning. Inheritance? He had his vault but he knew of that and yeah, the Potters were Pureblood but that was it. They weren't like the Malfoys! They couldn't be...that much money, power, influence.

"If you need advice or help I am of course here, but the House of Longbottom has allied with your family for many generations and they understand the old ways. Susan has been brought up as heiress to the Bones family and I'm sure would be happy to help. Not all of the Old families are as arrogant and flashy as the Malfoys, I assure you"

She leaned forward, grabbed his wrist, spoke quietly. "Your Godfather, no matter how much he hates his family, will be of great assistance to you."

His eyes widened and he gaped rather unbecomingly. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement knew? Believed? So why was Sirius still a wanted criminal...?

"Politics Harry. It all comes down to Politics. Now, I have taken up enough of your time. I'm sure your friends are worried you've been thrown in Azkaban for shouting at the Minister."

Harry grinned unrepentantly, proud of himself for holding his own. She got up and lit a fire place he hadn't even noticed. "I assume wherever you're going is floo connected?"

Harry frowned. Well he remembered seeing a fireplace so he guessed so, and nodded. Hopefully the Fidelius charm allowed it. He wasn't really sure how it worked.

"I will leave you in here, silencing charm still up, and shut the door. I would not do for anyone to know where you are staying."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, "for everything." If he was honest, he wasn't really sure what had just gone on, but something told him it would be important. Very important.

For the first time Amelia Bones smiled, small though it was. "It was my pleasure I assure you. You have a month away from school Harry and that is not such a bad thing. Use it wisely, and know that the House of Bones stands with you."

And with those slightly cryptic parting words she left the room and Harry flooed back to the house of Black.

The reaction was what he expected. Mrs Weasley was aghast, smothering him as if he'd been told some disastrous news that would ruin his entire life. He was surprisingly unfussed himself. Hermione raved about legal precedent and trying a minor without legal counsel and appealing and how could they! Exams! Ron gave him a pat on the back, "bad times mate", commiserated about the loss of Gryffindor's seeker for a month. The twins of course found it hilarious. Sirius was inscrutable, standing in the doorway and watching with conflicted grey eyes.

So the summer continued on as it otherwise would have. Order members came in and out at all times of the day, most of little interest to Harry who was privy to none of the information they brought with them. Though dinners with Tonks were always amusing, her metamorphagus ability a good distraction from the depressing and gloomy house when her clumsiness wasn't providing unintended amusement. Not to mention Mad-Eye Moody, who regaled Harry with stories of the old Order and his time as a top Auror. Hermione found it too violent and dark to discuss for too long, and Ron had little interest in discussing people long since dead. No one wished to be reminded of their own tentative grip on life, their own mortality. Before the hearing Harry would likely have been the same, but he found himself curious now. His parents had given their lives to the Order and yet Harry knew nothing of what those lives had entailed, nothing of the people they'd fought beside and loved. Often he could be found sat in an empty room staring at a photo of the Order in quiet contemplation.

His parents smiled and waved happily, somehow finding a reason for joy in a time of war. He didn't know what it was in their life that had given them such misplaced optimism. He would never know really. Never know them. Sirius was there of course, short hair and cheeky grin. He looked so much younger, so carefree, and seeing it Harry had suddenly realised how much Azkaban had stolen from his Godfather. But not as much as the Lestranges had stolen from the Longbottoms. Neville's mother was obvious, looking so much like him, a round face and a soft smile. His father looked kind and proud, much like Harry's own. He wasn't sure who had it worse really. His own parents were dead and he knew nothing about them. He knew of no grave to visit, no place to remember them by. Neville could visit his parents and interact and talk. But he did it all knowing that they didn't recognise him and couldn't understand. Neville loved his parents but to them their son was little different from a stranger. That, Harry thought, probably hurt more.

Edgar Bones was in the photo too. Harry thought of the man's stern but kind sister as Moody spoke of him. How terrible to lose not only your brother but his wife and children too. Amelia Bones' words whirled almost constantly through his mind and made it difficult to concentrate on the mundane games of exploding snap and Ron's ceaseless chatter about quidditch and Slytherins. For the first time he appreciated Hermione's presence more. She seemed to understand his need to submerge himself in something else, and he enjoyed their time in the library doing homework. She'd insisted he shouldn't fall behind and had promised to hand his homework in with hers, even if he wasn't so sure on her offer to send him a copy of her notes and the homework every day.

They'd even finished early, and as the days grew shorter and Ron scrambled ever more frantically to finish his work Harry and Hermione explored the Black library. Sirius advised them to stay away from the back section so they each found a book on the first bookcase, swapping interesting spells. Some were defensive, some offensive, some practical, some pointless. But Harry felt a little bit lighter knowing that even if it was small, he was doing something to make sure he was better prepared, more knowledgeable.

He kept his conversations with Sirius light and phatic, but he knew his Godfather watched him, could feel his eyes follow him. And in turn Harry watched him as he stared at the Black tapestry, as he stood in front of his mother's portrait when he thought no one was around, letting her shrill voice wash over him. Sirius always spoke so harshly of his mother, so unforgiving. But blood is blood, Harry supposed, and he must have loved her once. There was a strange understanding between Godfather and Godson, an unspoken knowledge that they understood each other more than anyone else. That there were things that needed to be said, but not now, not when other people remained in the house. So they waited patiently for time to trickle away and eventually August turned to dust and September arrived with little acknowledgement.

Everyone packed, gave their lines about missing Harry and then they were out the door. And it was only Harry and Sirius, alone in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.